


you're metaphorical gin and juice

by notinthisarmy



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mouth Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 20:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13689654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notinthisarmy/pseuds/notinthisarmy
Summary: "Oh! Flanagan’s - was that the bar with the jukebox where you interrogated me on whether or not I have a genuine what was the phrase? Mouth kink?” His voice is disgustingly gleeful, and he hits the lastkhard, an aggressive click of his tongue that draws his lips back over his teeth. Jeff’s face flushes hot.





	you're metaphorical gin and juice

**Author's Note:**

> i did my best and that's all i can say
> 
> title is from selena gomez's _hands to myself_. it's a very good song, honestly
> 
> thank you to [santanico](archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/works), my wonderful fiancee who always bolsters my confidence when i feel like a garbage writer

Griffin won’t stop looking at him. 

Not staring - for the first half hour Jeff thinks he’s going crazy, imagining the movements in his periphery, because when he looks up Griffin’s always focused on his laptop screen. The frustrating part is he can’t even seem to look up quick enough to catch Griffin’s head snapping back down. So at first he figures he’s imagining it, but at a certain point he decides it’s happened too many times for that to be a satisfactory explanation. But it’s not like he can bring it up. Right?

He wonders if Griffin knows they’re not really supposed to be here - there aren’t any recordings scheduled for today, but mostly Tara prefers they stay out unless they need to lie down or something. Otherwise everyone would be working on the sofa in some kind of mass dogpile. It makes sense. But they have a kind of arrangement between them all, when they need to focus, to let each other take the room, only one person at a time. And fortunately for Jeff, there’s not even a chance of being caught; Tara’s on vacation this week.

So he’d come in here hoping for some peace and quiet, a respite from the laughter and bickering happening in the main area, and found Griffin already on the sofa, leaning up against the arm with his socked feet on the cushions. He went a little wide-eyed when he looked up to see Jeff in the doorway. 

“Oh,” Jeff said, suddenly uncertain. “Hey, man, sorry, are you…” There was no planned end to that sentence. Griffin doesn’t work in this building; he doesn’t know that this room is one at a time, or that you’re supposed to let people know so you don’t get interrupted.

“Hey,” Griffin said, and he bent his knees, ticking up his legs until he only took up the one cushion. “You wanted to work in comfort too, huh? Can’t blame you. This sofa is extr _ eme _ ly comfortable..”

“Uh -“ Jeff sucked on his teeth a second as he hesitated. What the hell, it wasn’t like Griffin was watching YouTube or anything. “Yeah. It was just getting a little loud out there.”

“Oh, yeah, I feel you. Home office and all.”

Jeff nodded, settling into the cushions at the other end of the sofa. It seemed way too weird to mirror what Griffin was doing - they could end up playing footsie or something, and especially what with - nah. Whatever. It was all fine. He leaned against the backrest, propped his feet up on the edge of the coffee table, and opened his laptop. And that’s when the glances started.

And it wasn’t - it can’t be about the last time they hung out. Because Jeff had had a few pints, and Griffin’s not that mean, and anyway it had been an eventful night for lots of reasons other than Jeff drunkenly trying to coax Griffin into explaining just  _ how real _ his weird thing for mouths was. And it wasn’t even like Griffin had been bothered; as far as Jeff recalls he’d looked mostly bemused the whole time. Despite his self-professed discomfort with social situations, he’s an incredibly difficult person to embarrass. Unlike Jeff. 

Griffin’s looking at him again. 

“ _ What _ ,” Jeff snaps, before he can think it through. He pulls his hand away from his mouth - sometimes it helps to bite at his nails just a little, makes it easier to focus. By the time he looks over Griffin’s staring resolutely at his laptop, but at least this time he does manage to catch the tail end of Griffin’s movement. “I saw you that time, man, what are you staring at me for?”

Griffin looks up, the picture of innocence. “I wasn’t staring at you,” he says, utterly straight-faced.

“Uh-huh.” Jeff turns back to the half-finished pitch in his Google docs. He could just leave. He might be more productive somewhere else, even if it’s noisier.

But he doesn’t. He tries to go back to work, even though the words are coming slower and slower, and he has to chew at his thumbnail more and more. It’s bad, he knows, but he never chews hard enough to tear them, mostly grips them between his teeth and presses his tongue to the flat side; it’s just something to occupy him.

And to Griffin’s credit, it’s a while before Jeff feels eyes on him again. He’s too hyper-aware now not to know, but he’s also trying to allow for the possibility that Griffin is bored and playing the world’s dumbest prank, and so he pretends to be thinking about his pitch, totally oblivious that he’s been watched.

He switches to chewing on his index fingernail, worried about tearing the thumb. It matters, that he doesn’t immediately look like the kind of person with this juvenile habit.

He’s going to do it. He’s going to get up and leave.

He sighs and looks back at Griffin. 

“Is this about that night at Flanagan’s, because I was wasted, and it’s not like I was -”  _ Flirting _ , he almost says, but he knows it’s not wholly true. It hadn’t been  _ conscious _ , at least. He was just ribbing, and really, the line between the two was blurry as hell.

“Hm?” Griffin doesn’t look back down this time. That’s interesting. No,  _ weird _ . Jeff doesn’t know what to make of it. Griffin’s got that stupid innocent look back on his face, like he just wandered in here by accident. And Jeff doesn’t even entertain the idea that Griffin doesn’t remember, what with the two beers he nursed all night. “Oh! Flanagan’s - was that the bar with the jukebox where you interrogated me on whether or not I have a genuine what was the phrase? Mouth kink?” His voice is disgustingly gleeful, and he hits the last  _ k _ hard, an aggressive click of his tongue that draws his lips back over his teeth. Jeff’s face flushes hot. 

“Oh my god,” Jeff says, but he still isn’t getting up. He thinks about it though. “Are you actually this much of a dick or is this one of those things where you think everyone’s in on the joke but they’re actually just-“

“Shut up,” Griffin says, light and dismissive and oddly good-natured.

“Fuck you,” Jeff retorts, his mouth on autopilot even as his pulse starts to race. He can feel a dubious smile starting and quells it by pulling his lower lip into his mouth. To his surprise, Griffin laughs. 

“No, I just mean for a second,” he says, leaning over to put his laptop on the coffee table. “I’m trying not to be offended you think this is some kinda joke because I really feel like my comedy chops are a lot better than this. Also, counteroffer, I’m not a dick; you’re just defensive.”

“You’ve been staring at me!”

“Maybe you just look real nice today,” Griffin says, all obsequious midwestern charm for a moment, crooked grin and a little tilt of his head. It’s gone in a flash, as he straightens up and rests an elbow on one knee. The other leg he extends, till his foot is pushing under Jeff’s leg. The sofa’s not long enough for him to straighten it out entirely. Jeff’s never thought this sofa felt narrow before.

That’s something Griffin has an eerie talent for, switching up his facial expressions like he’s changing shirts. Mostly he uses it for comedic effect. Right now he looks coolly considering, but there’s a glint in his eye he can’t rid himself of entirely, and it sparks something hot in Jeff’s chest. “You got something in your beard,” Griffin says at last, and Jeff lets out a disbelieving huff.

“No, I don’t,” he says, but he stays still as Griffin reaches out and runs a slow thumb across his bottom lip, the heel of it scraping across Jeff’s beard. The touch pulls his lip a little to one side. Jeff freezes, struck dumb, staring at Griffin, whose eyes are fixed on his mouth.

“Huh,” Griffin says, a little more subdued than before. His finger comes away clean, but he dusts his hand off on his jeans anyway. “Got it.”

“You’re a fuckin’ - liar!” Jeff laughs and it comes out high and thin. Griffin’s eyes flicker up to meet his.

“That’s a terrible thing to call somebody,” Griffin admonishes. He looks like he’s having way too much fun, and not trying too hard to hide it. Every time Jeff sees him he manages to catch Jeff off guard in some way. Sometimes it’s just his teasing going a little harder than Jeff expects; sometimes it’s him propping an elbow on a jukebox and leaning in, the blinking yellow lights of the jukebox bouncing off his face, and saying pensively, “Define ‘kink’.”

And then sometimes it’s him just touching Jeff’s  _ mouth _ in the recording room at their place of  _ work _ . Oh, Christ, Jeff didn’t even lock the door. Why would he have?

“I, I need a, like a fucking dictionary with you,” he says at last, aware that he’s stammering but too focused on keeping his breathing steady to do much about it. “Or one of those… in-ear translators, the - those real-life Babelfish.”

Griffin laughs. “It’s a logical conclusion, my dude: you expressed an interest, I extended an invitation, and now…” He spreads his hands, shrugs. “Here we are.”

_ Where’s here,  _ Jeff thinks helplessly, but he’s smart enough not to say it. This is ludicrous. He had, maybe, expressed some form of interest, whether he meant to or not, but he has no idea where to go with any of it now. He’s staring at Griffin’s hand, now lightly curled over a denim-clad knee, taking note of little details like his neatly trimmed nails and the width of his fingers. He bites down on his lip again, feeling the ghost of Griffin’s touch and the way it just barely caught on his skin, how he almost opened his mouth a little more. He can’t help but feel like if he doesn’t move at all, time will stop for a minute and give him a chance to catch his breath.

It doesn’t, of course. After a moment, Griffin scoots back against the arm again and picks up his laptop. Jeff takes a deep breath and turns back to his own screen. Types two words, and then has to stop his hand, halfway to his mouth already.

“Where are you staying?” he says at last, as nonchalant as he can.

Griffin looks up. “Air BnB,” he replies. “I’ll send you the address.”

That’s the nicest thing Griffin’s done all day, offering it up before Jeff has to ask.

  
  
  
  


 

 

Griffin’s Air BnB is nice, nicer than Jeff expected for some reason. It’s way up on the twentieth floor, and the countertops look like marble, though they could be imitation and he’d have no clue. He runs a hand over one of them, tracing the veins, until Griffin slides a glass of whiskey across to him and he has to look up. “Thanks,” he says, although he mostly said yes to the drink because it was something to do with his hands.

Griffin takes a tiny sip of his own glass. Jeff’s never known Griffin to drink whiskey neat, or even without mixer, but maybe he just doesn’t know him well enough. He takes a sip too. Bourbon, maybe? “S’good,” he says, and finds Griffin staring again. Unselfconscious, like before. “So you don’t - I mean, you don’t usually do this, right? Flirt - or whatever - at work, I mean, it’s not…”

“No, this is not like a routine that I do when I visit,” Griffin assures him, and then snorts out a laugh. He folds his arms and props his elbows on the counter across from Jeff, leaning in a little. “Do  _ you _ always sit at your desk sucking on your pen cap until I have to flee the scene like some kind of thought criminal?”

“A thought -?” Jeff frowns, thinking back. He does suck on his pen sometimes. Also a gross habit, one he tries to stop himself from indulging at work.

Is that why Griffin was in the recording room in the first place? It’s unlikely, but highly flattering, so Jeff lets himself entertain the thought. 

“I, uh, guess I do have a few ticks like that,” Jeff admits at last, when it seems like Griffin is still waiting for his answer. He looks down at his drink and swirls the whiskey around a little, sliding the glass in rapid circles on the countertop. And maybe he’s more anxious than he’d like to admit, because he jerks his wrist a bit too hard and a little whiskey splashes over the side and onto his fingers. “Shit!”

For a moment he’s torn between the urge to laugh or bury his face in his hands. But Griffin is laughing, nose crinkling a little, ducking his head like he’s not sure if Jeff will be annoyed by it - which is ridiculous, because it’s almost impossible to maintain any annoyance in the face of Griffin’s unbridled positivity - but it occurs to him then that there’s a third option. He lifts his hand to his mouth and licks the whiskey off his fingers, and Griffin’s laughter cuts off into dead silence. For the first time all day Jeff’s actually doing it on purpose - he’s not hamming it up or anything, but it turns out here doesn’t have to. Griffin’s looking at him with crystalline focus and when he pushes himself up off the countertop it’s with a kind of purpose that makes Jeff’s throat tighten.

He comes around the counter to stand in front Jeff, who’s leaning against the sink. He’s close, but not close enough to do anything, and in his defence it’s possible Jeff’s been radiating uncertainty so Jeff straightens up and says, with as much authority as he can muster, “Kiss me.”

Griffin quirks an eyebrow and his mouth tightens like he wants to laugh, but he does take another step forward. “Bossy Jeff,” he says, all overdone intrigue. “Show me more.”

The tone turns it into teasing, but Jeff tries not to let the embarrassment take him over. Instead he leans in, ready to close the distance himself, but Griffin’s hand on his chest stops him. Griffin’s about an inch taller, something that’s easy to forget most of the time. Jeff considers pushing against the touch anyway, but he decides against it. He’s not sure if he has the energy to go head-to-head with Griffin right now. So to speak.

“Yeah,” says Griffin, like he’s a  _ mind-reader _ or something, and then he takes the last step to close the distance between them, one foot between Jeff’s until their hips slot together.

The first kiss is tentative, almost chaste except for the way their bodies are pressed together from chest to thigh. Jeff leans into it a little; the sentiment is nice but he’s well past any apprehension now. And Griffin lets out a little huff of breath against his lips - amused? - before pulling back, just enough to look him in the eye. “Still good?” Griffin says, his tone impossible to read. His voice has dropped into his lower register, though. That has to be a good sign. 

“Sure,” Jeff says, trying to be casual - maybe not the most ringing of endorsements in and of itself, but it comes out rough and he knows Griffin can feel the way he’s straining forward.

Griffin’s hand is at his jaw all of a sudden, thumb in the well below his lip and fingers curled beneath his chin. He repeats his gesture from earlier - a slow stroke across Jeff’s lip - and then he presses down, and Jeff lets his mouth be opened and his lower lip pulled down just enough for Griffin to kiss him again, much deeper than before. He barely registers the warmth of Griffin’s lips before there’s a tongue in his mouth, pushing in to slide alongside Jeff’s. The ease with which Griffin just goes for it, the heat of his mouth and the now-firm grip he has on Jeff’s jaw - it’s so much all at once that Jeff scrabbles behind him for some part of the counter to grab onto. When he does manage, it makes for good leverage to push himself up and closer, which Griffin allows for a moment before pushing with the hand on Jeff’s chest and pressing him back against the hard marble edge. The hand on Jeff’s face shifts till index and middle finger lie along the line of his jaw; like this his chin sits in the well of Griffin’s palm and when Griffin pulls at his mouth again it opens much wider than before, almost embarrassingly slack. Griffin licks inside once more, a broad stroke that takes him over and makes his chest feel like it’s about to cave in.

And he’s not normally a passive kisser. Distantly he feels the need to remind himself of this. It would be bad form in any other scenario, but it’s inevitable here. Griffin tilts his head as he pulls back, his tongue brushing Jeff’s upper lip as he does, and Jeff shudders hard. The downside to his wide open mouth is that the moan he lets out could have been stifled otherwise. Instead it’s devastatingly loud in the quiet apartment - even echoes a little off the hardwood flooring and bare walls. Griffin’s still looking at his mouth, but the sound makes him smile. There’s nothing mean in it; remarkably; anything else might have been too humiliating, but Griffin just looks straight up pleased.

“If I’d known,” he says, quiet - but he doesn’t finish the sentence, just moves his hand to slide his palm along the side of Jeff’s face, catching on his stubble, and up into his hair.

“Known?” Jeff echoes, trying not to tilt his head into the touch. Griffin doesn’t even seem to hear him. He’s using the hand in Jeff’s hair to tilt his head back, and like some invisible string has been pulled the motion makes him sink down a little against the counter, until the inch Griffin has on him becomes three or four and Griffin’s leg between his thighs feels structurally critical to his remaining upright.

“Jesus,” Griffin breathes, like he hadn’t expected it any more than Jeff had, but it’s belied by the way he looms. When he kisses Jeff again it’s pushy, on the edge of too hard for a moment before he eases up and sucks at Jeff’s upper lip. Griffin’s fingers scratch lightly through the short hair at the back of his head, almost soothing, and so Jeff moves on his own for the first time in what feels like forever - tries to meet Griffin’s tongue with his own and fails spectacularly. Almost as soon as Griffin feels movement his other hand is at Jeff’s hip, gripping hard, and that alone is enough to startle Jeff into freezing. But Griffin doesn’t let up this time, tilts his head and opens his mouth and kisses hard enough to push Jeff’s head back into his palm, until the angle of Jeff’s neck verges on uncomfortable. Griffin bites his lip, pulls a little before he lets go, and then he says, a little out of breath, “Still good?”

“Still good,” Jeff echoes, his voice pitched too high. And then, because Griffin looks like he’s really examining the truth of that, “Great. Stellar, even.”

“Okay,” Griffin says, and he starts to step back, slow enough to give Jeff time to straighten up and get his footing back. It still catches him off guard, and that must show in his face, because Griffin hooks a finger into his front pocket and tugs a little. “I’m not  _ going _ anywhere, you dummy,” he says. “Or did you want to rub off on each other against the kitchen counter?”

And admittedly as Jeff takes a step away he feels a sharp pang where the counter had been digging into his back. He lets Griffin lead him farther into the apartment, past the leather sofa and dim yellow lamplight into a tidy, if Spartan, bedroom. Griffin’s suitcase is sticking out a little from the foot of the bed, and there’s a 3DS sitting closed on the nightstand, but not much else: no photos, posters, anything on the walls. The bed itself looks nice at least, king-size, with an off-white duvet. Griffin leans against the side of the bed and folds his arms across his chest. Jeff can see the faint outline of his dick through his sweatpants and he wants to get in close again, kiss him, both to dispel the awkwardness and because it had been so good. But now he hovers, because the last few times he tried to hurry anything along he got some pretty clear feedback.

“C’mere,” Griffin says, so casually. Jeff does. His sweater is starting to feel too warm for the room, but he’s not about to just start shedding layers, so he takes a deep breath instead and waits for Griffin to reach out, push his hands under Jeff’s shirt hem to rest on his hips. “What do you want?” Griffin asks, a little furrow between his brows, and for the first time there’s a hint of uncertainty in his demeanour. Somehow that’s such a comfort that it’s easy to be honest.

“Suck you off,” Jeff says, perfunctory, losing the  _ to  _ in his rush to get it out - and then, while he still has the courage, “and more of that. The - kissing.” He only hesitates because he’s not sure it’s really the word, except in technicality, for the way Griffin had overwhelmed him before. One side of Griffin’s mouth quirks upward.

“We can make that happen,” he says, already leaning in. He kisses Jeff once, twice, surprisingly soft just then, but when he pulls back it’s only to replace his mouth with his hand; the pads of his first three fingers are against Jeff’s lips, gentle as anything. “What about this?”

Jeff doesn’t want to talk, risk sounding ridiculous through the obstruction or - worse - make Griffin move his hand. Instead he meets Griffin’s eyes and licks his lips, tasting salt and whiskey on Griffin’s fingers.

“Cool,” says Griffin, and the next thing he knows Griffin’s tongue is in his mouth; Griffin barely gets his hand out of the way in time. Jeff lets out a breath through his nose and wraps his arms around Griffin’s waist, and just as he’s starting to get used to kissing back again, he feels a hand at his jaw, and then on the other side too, and his head is being tilted back, jaw falling open. He makes a little sound in his throat, mostly surprise, but enough that Griffin pauses, pulling back just enough to speak.

“You’ll tell me,” he says, “if you’re not having fun. Right?”

“Yeah,” Jeff says, his voice too high again. He shuts his eyes, painfully aware of how he must look with his mouth half-open and his face tipped up halfway to the ceiling, cradled in Griffin’s hands. “Griffin, please -”

And Griffin does kiss him, firm but sweet, but without anything to lean against he can’t sink down far enough - as far as either of them would like. Griffin gives him one last sharp bite to his lower lip, and then reaches back to grab a throw pillow off the bed. He tosses it on the hardwood floor where it makes a muffled thump.

“Wait,” Griffin says, as Jeff takes a step towards it. He starts pushing at Jeff’s sweater until Jeff has to lift his arms and pull it off, leaving him in the thin T-shirt beneath. “Warm in here,” Griffin offers, unnecessarily. Jeff nods, watching Griffin sit on the very edge of the bed, hands spread on the duvet on either side of his hips. He does have nice hands. Griffin catches him staring.

“You change your mind?” Griffin asks, and Jeff shakes his head. He thinks about telling Griffin he’d rather be on the bed, but he’s not sure he really does have a preference; and anyway, this is easier on his back. And - sinking down between Griffin’s knees isn’t a bad feeling at all. Griffin’s half-hard, and Jeff’s throat tightens just looking at the shape of him through the soft gray fabric.

“Cat got your tongue?” Griffin asks, his voice suddenly soft, and it’s said so seriously that Jeff almost giggles - is still trying to swallow the sound when Griffin reaches out to cup his chin, touch his thumb to Jeff’s mouth. He doesn’t have to push hard at all before Jeff’s lips are parting and Griffin’s thumb is slipping inside, pressing down on his tongue. “Well?”

Jeff looks up from staring into the middle distance, into Griffin’s eyes, which are bright with intent. Does he expect Jeff to talk like his? He swallows, and the motion rolls his tongue against Griffin’s thumb; Griffin pushes a little farther in and he bites his lip, looking at Jeff’s mouth. Somehow he still seems expectant, so Jeff makes a meaningless noise, closes his lips around Griffin’s thumb and sucks.

It’s an answer, sort of. Enough of one for Griffin, who turns his hand and pushes two fingers in instead, quick and brief, so that Jeff finds himself leaning in when that hand withdraws and the other slides around to the back of his neck, encouraging. Griffin’s pants are still on, but he follows Griffin’s touch, presses his lips to the side of Griffin’s dick through and feels Griffin shudder just a little, silently. And he’s not a competitive guy, really, but he can do better, and that certainty floods him, makes him open his mouth wider and lead with his tongue, licking along the clothed length of Griffin’s cock until he gets to the tip and sucks as best he can. Griffin’s hand tightens on the back of his neck and his thighs tense. Jeff puts a hand on one to brace himself, the other gripping the edge of the mattress. He licks Griffin again, even though the still mostly dry cloth drags at his tongue, and tries to take the head into his mouth, even knowing it won’t work. It’s surreal, like this, unable to taste or smell skin and precum, unable to get a proper seal; but it makes him try harder, and he’s willing to bet it’s why Griffin isn’t making a move to remedy the situation.

The gray fabric makes the wet spots he’s creating starkly visible, and he shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to think about it. He thinks he can start to taste Griffin through the fabric; probably his imagination, but his tongue is starting to feel weird with the texture of the weave and even the suggestion of salt is enough to make him moan a little. Griffin lets out an answering sound, pushing up into Jeff’s mouth.

“Don’t you want the real thing?” Griffin asks, and when Jeff opens his eyes to look up, Griffin’s smiling, like he knows Jeff just assumed he should take what he was offered.

“You dick,” Jeff says, and Griffin just keeps smiling, totally unbothered.

“I wasn’t going to stop you when you looked that good,” he says, and he does it again, drags his thumb across Jeff’s mouth, pushing his lips to one side for just a moment. “You have a nice mouth. Have I told you that yet?”

“No,” Jeff answers, already grasping at the waistband on Griffin’s pants. Griffin lifts his hips and lets Jeff pull them down.

“Well, I’ve thought it.”

“Really?” Jeff hopes he takes that as the prompt it is, because he doesn’t know how to push past the embarrassment to ask for more.

“Mhm.” Griffin lets out a breath through his nose, hard, as Jeff wraps a hand around the base of his dick and licks up to the tip. “You sitting there at your station just… sucking away at that peni, and me being such a fucking cliche, just - trying not to get a boner under the desk.” It’s a vast relief to be touching soft skin again, and he sinks down a little farther than he should, just barely managing not to gag. The head of Griffin’s dick presses up against his soft palate, and Griffin shudders again, harder now.

“There’s the obvious,” Griffin goes on, his voice tight. “This, you, sucking my dick, but - getting you on your back, putting my fingers in your mouth, making you - show off for me -”

Jeff looks up and pulls off to take a breath, Griffin’s cock still resting against his lower lip as he gasps, and Griffin visibly grits his teeth.

“Yeah,” he says, “like that.”

“That,” Jeff begins, and he means to end it with  _ sounds good to me _ , but it’s such a bland response, and the filthy honesty of Griffin’s words only makes it sound stupid. But it  _ does _ , just the thought of Griffin above him, tipping his head back, pushing his fingers in like before - Jeff squirms a little as his dick presses against his zipper.

“You don’t wanna unzip?” Griffin stops him as he goes to sink down again, with a hand on the side of his face. Jeff flushes, but he uses his free hand to undo the zipper and push open his fly, and it  _ is  _ such a relief. He leans into Griffin’s hand, not really thinking too hard about it, and the touch starts to shift, thumb pulling back on one side of his mouth and then pushing inside, along his cheek. It stretches Jeff’s mouth just a little, and somehow makes him feel emptier. His eyes try to flutter shut but he doesn’t let them, tries to focus instead. “Okay?” Griffin asks, just as he’s leaning in again. All he can do is make a wordless sound of agreement, a little distorted around Griffin’s hand, and take Griffin back into his mouth.

“Christ,” Griffin gets out, sounding strained, as Jeff rolls his tongue and takes him a little deeper. He can’t close his lips like this, but it doesn’t matter; they’re in some kind of feedback loop, Griffin’s thumb stroking the inside of his cheek with every bob of his head, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt. This - this is brand new, and he tries to find a balance between letting Griffin know how good it is and not totally humiliating himself. But the bedroom is all hard surfaces and he hears the sounds Griffin pushes out of him with perfect clarity - the slick sounds of Griffin’s dick in his mouth, the choked whimpers that punctuate them. It’s a tight fit already, but when Griffin’s free hand touches his other cheek, tracing the corner of his mouth, Jeff lets out a drawn-out moan anyway, because as impossible as it is he wants to  _ try _ .

“Oh my god,” Griffin says, and all his muscles seem to tense at once. “Jeff, pull off, you gotta pull off -”

He does entertain the thought of ignoring Griffin’s warnings, but it’s been a while and he’s probably tested his gag reflex enough for one day. Not to mention Griffin is gently pushing him back, panting, and scrambling to grab a tissue out of the box on the nightstand. This, getting to watch Griffin shaking apart in his own hand as he stares down at Jeff with wide eyes, is its own reward. Jeff turns his head and licks a line from the base of Griffin’s palm to the tips of middle and forefingers, and Griffin sighs out a string of curse words and comes.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Griffin says, again, once he’s caught his breath. Jeff nods. If he didn’t know how it would look he’d lean his head on Griffin’s knee; he’s breathing hard, too, and trying to be inconspicuous about it. His jaw is a little sore, and his mouth feels empty.

“Sorry.” Griffin kicks his pants off the rest of the way, slides awkwardly off the bed and grabs at the handle of his suitcase. Jeff is too embarrassed to watch him search for another pair of pants; he stands up instead, kicks off his jeans and climbs on the bed in his T-shirt and boxers. He’s never this quiet, really, but he can’t think of a single thing to say. God, he hopes this doesn’t ruin their whole working relationship, and in the same instant he hopes Griffin will climb on top of him and make good on his promise.

“Okay,” Griffin says, tying the drawstring on a clean pair of sweatpants. These are black, the fabric pilled in places. “You know I love to be the loudest person in the room but you’re starting to worry me, buddy.”

“Sorry,” Jeff says, and his voice sounds pretty shot. He didn’t think they’d been that hard on his throat. “It’s just… a lot.”

“Yeah.” Griffin joins him on the bed, facing him but leaving a little space. “If I pushed you -”

Jeff shakes his head and swallows, feeling his throat stick a little. “It was good,” he says. “ _ I’m _ \- good - would you come here? I just had your dick in my mouth, you don’t need to be all the way -”

Griffin’s laughing, scooting in close before Jeff’s done talking, knocking one knee aside so he can settle between them. He gives one shoulder a gentle shove and Jeff falls back onto the pillows. “You want me to return the favour?”

Jeff nods reflexively, then shakes his head. “You got me thinking,” he admits. And then, when Griffin only looks at him expectantly, “You’ve got me on my back.”

Griffin’s eyes flicker across his face. “That’s true,” he says. He puts a hand on Jeff’s leg till Jeff drops his knee. Griffin leans over him, propped up by a hand next to Jeff’s head. “Jeff,” he says, and Jeff is opening his mouth to say  _ yeah _ when Griffin’s other hand brushes across his cheek, aimless, a tease. He chases it a little, turns his head like he could move fast enough to catch it.

“God,” Griffin says, and swings one leg over Jeff’s to straddle it. “You look good. Okay. Just… just hit me or something, if I push too far.”

And then he puts two fingers against Jeff’s lips, and Jeff opens his mouth. Griffin slides them along the top of his tongue, slow but deep, enough that he has to drop his throat and force his muscles to relax. “God,” Griffin says again, his voice crackling a little. “Fucking surreal. How much more can you take?”

Jeff doesn’t know, but he’d rather take a shot and try to impress than admit that. He lifts his head and Griffin’s third knuckles slide past his lips. His throat flutters but he ignores it just long enough to draw his tongue up the centre of Griffin’s palm and between his fingers, and Griffin jolts, his thigh pressing up against Jeff’s dick.

“Fuck,” Jeff gets out, muffled around Griffin’s hand. 

Griffin pulls back, drags his damp fingers over Jeff’s jaw and says, in a voice so voice is so  _ low -  _ Jeff forgets how goddamn deep it can get - “What do you want me to do?”

“Touch me,” Jeff answers, instantly. “And keep going.”

To his credit, Griffin doesn’t tease. He tugs down Jeff’s boxers and gets a hand around him, the one still slick with Jeff’s saliva. “Yeah?” Griffin asks, rhetorical. His other hand is at Jeff’s mouth already, tracing the shape of his lips, letting Jeff suck at the pad of his thumb. “Something about this,” he goes on, still sounding rough, even a little shaky, “it’s actually hotter than watching you suck my dick. It doesn’t  _ feel _ quite as good, obviously, but that’s just it. You might like it more than I do, and take my word for it I  _ do.”  _ He taps at Jeff’s lips, slips two fingers inside and strokes the side of Jeff’s tongue. “What is it, Jeff? Is it because you get to use your teeth a little?” He pushes down, presses the edge of Jeff’s teeth into the base of his fingers. Jeff drops his jaw automatically, trying to keep from biting, but it’s  _ hard _ , with Griffin jacking him off slow and firm. “Is it that I can do this?” The fingers slide in deeper, curling so Jeff can’t help but gag a little. Griffin backs off quick enough, but he can’t have missed the way Jeff’s dick twitched.

“Yeah,” Griffin murmurs, letting his fingers slip out of Jeff’s mouth, catching his lip along the way. “Prehensile has its benefits.”

Jeff opens his mouth to ask what  _ that _ means, and Griffin takes hold of his tongue between thumb and forefinger.

The groan that rips out of his throat surprises both of them; it’s part surprise, but mostly something else, something that surges through Jeff’s chest like a tidal wave. He stares up at the stucco ceiling and pants, and Griffin’s hand on his cock speeds up.

“There is  _ so _ much I wanna try,” Griffin tells him, and he runs his middle finger down the side of Jeff’s tongue and then down the middle, from the back to the tip. Jeff doesn’t bother trying to swallow that sounds bubbling up in his throat anymore; he can feel the heat building inside him and if he doesn’t keep letting Griffin know how  _ fucking _ good he feels then it might all stop. “Are you getting close?”

Jeff gets an  _ uh-huh _ out from around the fingers in his mouth, and Griffin says, “I thought so.” He lets go of Jeff’s tongue, and Jeff is halfway through a noise of complaint when Griffin’s mouth is on his. There’s a wet hand gripping his jaw, holding it open, and Griffin is licking inside like he’s taking over. And he is - Jeff can’t think about anything except Griffin’s tongue, curling against his hard palate, pushing his own tongue aside, licking his teeth. He bucks up into Griffin’s hand hard enough that Griffin nearly topples off, and then he’s coming into Griffin’s palm, letting out shaky sounds into Griffin’s mouth.

“Shit,” Griffin sighs, his breath warm on Jeff’s lips. He sits up, slowly, reaching for a tissue to wipe his hand. He rolls off Jeff to kneel nearby. “Are you -?”

Jeff nods, pulling up his boxers, still caught around his thighs. “I’m good,” he says, and he can feel the awkwardness really setting in but he very much doesn’t want it to. “Hey, Griff? You wanna grab the whiskeys?”

“Uh - sure.” Griffin slides off the bed and disappears to the kitchen, coming back with their still full glasses. “This was more of a pretense than anything, but who doesn’t love a nightcap, right?”

Jeff huffs out a laugh as he takes the glass, scooting up to sit back against the headboard. Griffin joins him, his bare foot touching Jeff’s socked one. The word  _ nightcap _ is so old-fashioned, but it’s charming, really, like most of Griffin’s quirks.

“We’re chill, right?” Jeff looks over at Griffin, who’s taking a sip. He swallows and licks his lips before he answers.

“Yeah,” he says. “I fuckin’ hope so. We are, right?”

“Sure,” Jeff says, and he laughs, knocking a knee against Griffin’s. “This is just weird, that’s all. You don’t feel weird?”

“I feel  _ good _ .”

“Yeah, me too.” Jeff takes a drink. It’s a little sweet for his taste, but it lights a little fire in the base of his throat.

“You should stay the night.” Griffin bumps his knee right back, and then rests his leg against Jeff’s; in his periphery, Jeff can see Griffin’s eyes on him. “If you want.”

He should have packed a bag, but it seemed presumptuous. Now Griffin is next to him, vacillating between shy and assertive, and it’s so sweet he has to smile. “Yeah, okay.”

Griffin’s shoulder touches his, now, at first tentative and then a solid presence. “Cool,” he says, and Jeff keeps smiling, keeps letting the awkwardness roll over them, lessening every moment.


End file.
